


Astronomy in Reverse

by ABlueWriter, AVeryBlueGirl



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Inspired by Music, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Post-Star Trek Beyond, T'hy'la, Yorktown, sleeping at last
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 09:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14734073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABlueWriter/pseuds/ABlueWriter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVeryBlueGirl/pseuds/AVeryBlueGirl
Summary: It had been a long, stressful day.Somehow he’d forgotten that..While staying on Yorktown, waiting for the new Enterprise to be completed, things between Jim and Spock have quietly fallen into place without thought or intention. One late night during a game of chess, Jim begins to contemplate the unspoken changes between them.





	Astronomy in Reverse

**Author's Note:**

> Just some little oneshot that I wrote forever ago and forgot to post. 
> 
> Inspired by Sleeping At Last's lovely, romantic song "Venus", which is quoted here and which gives this fic its name.

**_“I was a billion little pieces_ **  
**_‘til you pulled me into focus._**  
**_Astronomy in reverse,_ **  
**_It was me who was discovered…”_ **

-

It had been a long day on Yorktown Starbase for Jim.

At 0700, a meeting with Paris to update her on his progress with her starbase security team and their proposed modifications to emergency procedures and structural weak points of the starbase. Around 1030, a meeting with Scotty to discuss and plan the next trip to Altamid to salvage pieces of the original Enterprise, as well as to discuss potential alternations to the bridge’s Kelvin pod configuration. By 1230 he had managed to steal a half hour break to get food before a conference vidcall with the Admiralty on Earth—though that headache was thankfully eased by Spock’s presence. Afterwards, he’d agreed to go meet with the computer security team that Spock had worked with to prevent future hacking of their systems through their various associated probes and satellites.

It had been a long, stressful day.

Somehow he’d forgotten that.

After the final meeting with Spock’s computer security experts, the pair had left work behind and gone for dinner at one of Yorktown’s restaurants—fancier than Jim preferred, but it had the widest selection of vegetarian options for Spock, so he didn’t mind too much.

And now they sat in the living room of their temporary apartment at a table, the chessboard between them as they played and talked.

It was getting late, but neither really minded, preferring to continue their quiet conversation as they played their third game for the night.

Jim knew he’d be exhausted tomorrow if he didn’t go to sleep soon, but he didn’t feel as tired as he probably should have. Nights like this—quiet nights with Spock and relaxed dinners and thoughtful conversation over chess—they were the best remedy for a stressful day in his book.

As Spock paused to consider the board and his next move, Jim’s gaze turned to the large window beside them, with a breathtaking view of Yorktown, its curved arms and twisting structures that curled together into a stunning display of all the Federation could accomplish. Though it was late by the starbase’s time, the city below was still abuzz with activity—unsurprising, given that it was a Friday night. Somehow, no matter how often he appreciated the view, the sight never failed to steal his breath and fill him with utter awe.

Perhaps it was the beauty and grace of the starbase’s design. Perhaps it was fact that people from all over the galaxy, hundreds of species, had come here to build their lives together, surrounded by incredible diversity. Perhaps it was the fact that _this_ is what he always worked for, what he devoted his life to—protecting innocent people and civilians and families, fighting for understanding between peoples of incredibly different backgrounds, and so much more. This was why he was a starship captain.

Here, here was a tangible, visible reminder of what he had forgotten in recent months, proof that he was making a difference, evidence that his struggles had meaning.

Not for the first time, Jim was grateful that he lived in such times, to see such wonders and marvels being accomplished. He shook his head, filled with a simple, inexplicable gratitude to the fact that he was alive right now.

“ _For nowadays the world is lit by lightning_ ,” he quoted absently, eyes still tracing the lines and curves of Yorktown’s beautiful structure.

“Tennessee Williams, Jim?” Spock said curiously, pulling his focus away from the window.

He shrugged. “It seemed to fit,” the captain said as he considered Spock’s recently moved bishop. “We’ve come so far.”

And it was true. Humans, Vulcans, the Federation as a whole—they had all come so far.

But then, so had the Enterprise crew.

From watching the Narada destroy Vulcan to stopping Krall from destroying Yorktown, they had all been through so much and had proved themselves beyond words. Jim would never stop being proud of them, nor would he ever do justice to the honor it was to be their captain. They had come so far.

Just as the crew had grown and matured and adapted and learned, so too had Jim and Spock.

“ _We’ve_ come so far,” he repeated, softer, eyes resting upon his best friend.

He could still so clearly remember that first glance, the first time they had locked eyes. They’d both heard of each other. Spock had been notorious as a hardass with a stick up his ass; Jim had been notorious as the campus smartass with the best ass; they’d known of each other only by these reputations. When Spock had stood and come down to face him in his academic hearing, Jim had known who he was—but when Spock had reached his podium opposite Jim’s, he’d finally turned to look at him.

In the years since, he’d never known why, could never figure it out—but in that moment, when their eyes met for the first time, it had felt…momentous. Important. Game-changing. It had somehow truly felt like the beginning it was.

But then they’d started speaking and it had gone downhill from there, not recovering until well after Vulcan was destroyed, Vulcans endangered, Nero stopped, Jim officially captain, and Spock his First Officer. He hadn’t known why exactly Spock had returned to the Enterprise rather than help the Vulcan colony, but Jim hadn’t questioned it—he suspected an older, scheming Vulcan had something to do with it anyway. (Universe-ending paradoxes, _indeed_. As if Jim hadn’t focused on temporal physics for an independent study course.)

After they were an official command team, their friendship had been quick to follow. Looking back, he didn’t even really remember how it began—until suddenly he was eating most of his meals with Spock, playing chess with him at least three times a week, sparring at least twice a week, and ultimately spending most of his free time with Spock.

And then there had been the whole mess with Khan and Admiral Marcus and the Klingons that had left Jim temporarily dead before Bones had saved his bacon, like usual. To this day, he didn’t know all of what had happened while he was dead—Scotty had nervously said some security tapes were unavailable, Nyota refused to explain, and Bones had only shook his head. No one would really talk about it in detail, but he knew enough.

He’d known, staring through the glass at Spock, that the half-Vulcan was emotionally compromised without provocation—Spock crying, his hands shaking, his shields broken open like a cracked egg with his emotions spilling out, heart ripped open like a runny yolk.

Khan had been running wild, until suddenly he was beaten and bloody and unconscious in Sickbay so Bones could draw a blood sample. And there was only one person on the Enterprise who could have physically matched the augmented human—much less given him such a beating.

In the end, Jim didn’t need security tapes or witness statements. He knew—he had known that if he’d asked Spock, his best friend would have told him honestly. But Jim didn’t ask. He didn’t really need to know. It didn’t really matter.

He already knew, really. The way the ensigns who’d been in Engineering that day, and the nurses who’d been with Bones at the time—the way they behaved so nervously around Spock afterwards said plenty.

Afterwards, during their year being grounded as the Enterprise was refitted for their five year mission, Jim had spent the first month either in Medical for various appointments or in meetings with the Admiralty. Either way, Spock was at his side.

During his recovery, Spock had volunteered to look after him, as McCoy was so busy at Starfleet Medical and working odd hours. Somehow he’d ended up basically moving into Jim and Bones’ guest room in their apartment until the launch.

And most nights were like this one, honestly. Just the two of them, ordering take-out or cooking themselves, playing chess or debating new astrophysics theories, talking Tellarite culture or Starfleet politics. Sometimes just sitting in silence, working or reading separately, but coexisting in the same space together—something they still did frequently when words weren’t necessary. It was all…

It was really domestic, actually, now that he thought about it.

“Jim?” Spock prompted quietly, apparently amused that Jim was abruptly so introspective, rather than offended. “It is your move.”

“Sorry,” Jim said, focusing upon their match.

But after a clever maneuver that endangered Spock’s queen, Jim’s thoughts returned to the previous topic.

It really was domestic, wasn’t it? Like they were an old married couple rather than a starship command team.

But the two weren’t so different, he decided. They lived together—back then in San Francisco, later in quarters connected by their shared bathroom on the Enterprise, and now even closer in their Yorktown apartment. They worked together more days than not, and they spent their evenings together too. Unless one counted the brief period of their separation on Altamid, Jim could not recall the last time he went a day without spending at least three hours with Spock.

Theirs was a partnership built on unshakable trust and mutual devotion, unwavering loyalty and quiet affection. Spock was the most important person in Jim’s life—and he knew, without self-doubt, without arrogance, but with a simple faith, that he was the most important person in Spock’s life too.

The captain remembered, back in the beginning of their five-year mission, they’d had a good portion of the crew turn over, and so the ship was filled with newer crew members, though his senior crew was unchanged. The new crew hadn’t initially understood the dynamic between their charismatic, animated commanding officer and his reserved, stern first officer. There had been rumors—a lot of rumors for a while, really. Most of which, when they’d heard, were dismissed with a raise of Spock’s left eyebrow or an amused chuckle and a shrug from Jim. After a few months, the rumors died down as the crew came to understand their command team.

At the time, it had seemed like such an absurd idea. Spock and Nyota, at some point during his recovery, had mutually agreed to end their relationship and had remained close friends, but neither seemed eager to rush into a new relationship. And besides—Jim was a captain, he needed to focus on the ship, the crew, the mission. He didn’t have time for a relationship and it wouldn’t have been appropriate to date anyone under his command. That was one rule he’d never even considered breaking. Not once. So he’d thought.

It had seemed so absurd three years ago. So strange an idea, so impossible—the idea of them dating.

And yet now… Now he wasn’t so sure anymore, he admitted to himself as he captured one of Spock’s pawns.

The blond man recalled, suddenly, a conversation they’d had only two days ago in that very room as they ate dinner—it had been Jim’s night to cook.

“What’ll you do when we’re done with active duty on starships?” Jim had asked curiously. “I’m assuming we won’t just retire to a boring life in some little suburb, going on the occasional cruise, playing bingo every Tuesday night.”

Spock had paused to consider, looking thoughtful as he took a bite of vegetarian lasagna. “If we are still in San Francisco, I suppose I will return to teaching at the Academy,” he decided. “Otherwise, I am uncertain, though I may consider a diplomatic career like my father.”

Grinning, Jim had chuckled. “I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “Teaching, I mean. Probably computer science for you, right? Tactical for me. Hell, we’d probably end up guiding and shaping future command teams made up of our mini-me’s, yeah? Maybe even pair them up, hm?”

Spock had raised an eyebrow, but he was giving that amused not-smile of his and Jim had laughed enough for them both.

Now, staring down at the chessboard as he halfheartedly tried to evade Spock’s checkmate, Jim knew.

He loved Spock. He had for a long time—as a friend, a best friend, a brother, a stalwart companion through hell and high water and everything in between. But none of those words seemed like enough, even combined. There was more there too, but lover did not seem like enough either.

Romantic love no longer seemed so farfetched.

They were almost a married couple, living together, spending all their spare time together, valuing the other above all else, giving a quiet, unspoken fidelity. Compared to your common married couple…the only thing missing was the physical affection.

The attraction had been there from the beginning—in his academic hearing, there had been one tiny moment after he first saw Spock that he cursed the fact that his accuser was so attractive. That attraction had not faded over the years, it had merely taken a back seat in his mind.

And there were times he had caught Spock glancing him over with an admiring gaze—after a sparring session in the gym, as Jim stretched after sitting in his captain’s chair too long, the occasional moments that Spock had visited his quarters when Jim had yet to find a shirt. He’d even caught a couple of those appreciative glances from across this very chess board.

Their relationship had changed so very much over the years, constantly evolving and shifting, never quite settling. It seemed obvious, really. Natural.

There was no earth-shattering, world-shaking revelation for Jim Kirk, just a warm recognition, a gentle homecoming.

Because yes—he did love Spock. He had for a very long time and—yes, in hindsight, a good deal of that time, it had been romantically inclined.

“Hey, Spock,” he said quietly, as he reached over to move a bishop. “You remember, at the beginning of our five-year mission, all the new crew members thought we were a thing at first?”

“A thing?” the half-Vulcan repeated with a raise of his eyebrow.

Jim snorted. “You know what I mean, Spock,” he said with a grin. “I know you too well for that to work anymore.”

Spock hummed. “It still fools Leonard occasionally,” he remarked, a hint of pride coloring his tone.

“He doesn’t know you like I do,” Jim shrugged.

“No, he does not,” Spock agreed and paused, considering. “But yes, I recall. Why do you ask?”

“Did you ever think about it?” he asked curiously, glancing up from the board.

Spock regarded him curiously. “The rumors?”

“The idea. You and me. Together.”

“Do you?”

Jim paused and wet his bottom lip as he considered his words. “Sometimes…Not as often as I used to,” he admitted. “I don’t really have to.”

Was this a mistake? What if Spock didn’t? What if he was wrong, if he made Spock uncomfortable, if he ruined it all?

But even as he worried, something in him was unmoved, unconcerned—confident that he was right.

“Do you think about it, Spock?” he asked softly, leaning forward a bit, the chess board forgotten between them.

With the question returned to him, Spock now appeared…unnerved. “More than I should,” he admitted quietly.

The breath caught in Jim’s throat and for a moment, neither moved, simply staring at the other.

Finally, he stood from his chair and paused beside Spock, who looked up at him in mild surprise. With a tentative, nervous hand, Jim held out his index and middle fingers together, extended in what he was pretty sure was a decent configuration for the _oz’hesta_. Well, decent considering he’d never done it before—only seen it once or twice before and read about it.

There was a long pause as he waited, heart pounding, mind racing, hands shaking just a bit. He kept his eyes on his outstretched hand, perhaps too cowardly to meet Spock’s gaze, even though he felt it resting upon him.

He was about to withdraw entirely, pull away and retreat, when Spock raised a hand to meet his.

Jim couldn’t help the small breath when their fingers touched in the _oz’hesta_ , somehow forgetting the charge that seemed to always occur when they touched.

Spock’s touch was feather-light, almost tickling as his fingertips brushed over Jim’s hand.

Somehow, he dragged his gaze away, up to Spock’s face, which was relaxed and open and tender as he gazed upon their entwined hands and then looked up to meet his captain’s eyes.

“What is that?” Jim asked, reluctant to fracture the calm between them. “Whenever we touch, that—spark. I’ve always wondered…”

His first officer’s hands hesitated for just a moment before continuing along, almost tracing the contours of Jim’s hand, almost learning the shape and feel of it, inch by inch.

“It is…” Spock paused, weighing his words carefully. “It is…complicated.”

“I’ve got time,” he replied calmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something softened in Spock’s eyes. “No, I suppose you are not,” he agreed. “It is a—side effect, I believe. I have told you of our high degree of mental compatibility before. That is the consequence, for telepaths, when we touch those with whom we have such compatibility. It is our minds brushing and reaching out instinctively.”

“The high compatibility is a good thing, right,” the blond man said. “Isn’t that—something Vulcans look for in—uh.”

“In bondmates, yes,” Spock continued for him, amused. “Though our extreme degree of compatibility is…rare.”

“Oh,” he said softly.

Spock stood slowly, standing far closer to Jim than usual, and carefully slowed his hand’s movement.

Without thought, Jim’s hands came to rest upon Spock’s upper arms, a gentle clasp, just enough to ground him. “May I?” he asked quietly, eyes flickering down to Spock’s mouth for just a moment.

Spock huffed out a breath in amusement. “You need not ask, after all this time, Jim.”

“Had to be sure,” he smiled, joyous, and pressed forward to kiss him.

It had been so long since he’d really let himself imagine kissing Spock. Whatever fantasies he once had, they really didn’t matter—fantasies never got the details right anyway.

When they pulled away, Jim smiled brighter than in what felt like years, and there was a small but plain to see smile on Spock’s flushed green face.

For a moment, he could do nothing more than smile at Spock, no longer afraid of being caught in his admiration. 

“What now?” he asked, a bit breathless. “For us?”

“I imagine we will continue on, much the same as before, until the Enterprise-A is completed,” Spock replied simply. “With perhaps a few minor…additions to our off-duty time together.”

“Additions, huh?” he grinned.

Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim merely laughed, luminous.

It felt like coming home to the Enterprise for the first time, he rather thought; like things settling into their proper place. 

Like after years of stargazing in Iowa and admiring a constellation, he’d finally gone out and found it—or perhaps that Spock had found him. 

He had home now, with him, beside him. And soon enough they’d be back out there at home on their ship amongst the constellations.

 

-

 

 **_“_ _I thought I’d never find you,_**  
**_When suddenly I saw you._ **

**_Like a telescope,_ **  
**_I will pull you so close,_ **  
**_‘til no space lies in between...”_ **


End file.
